


Good That

by susiephalange



Category: The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types
Genre: Character Death, Denial of Feelings, Emotionally Repressed, Heavy Angst, M/M, Sad with a Happy Ending, The Death Cure Spoilers, male reader - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-05
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2019-04-18 18:23:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14219037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/susiephalange/pseuds/susiephalange
Summary: Reader hears news of Newt.





	Good That

**Author's Note:**

> THIS FIC LITERALLY RIPPED OUT MY SOUL, BROKE MY HEART AND SMASHED MY BODY TO A PULP AND THEN PUT IT INTO A BLENDER TO FEED TO ALL OF YOU BECAUSE THIS WAS REQUESTED AND I LITERALLY HATE WRITING ANGST BECAUSE IT MAKES ME ANGSTY AND SAD AND NOW I NEED TO GO CRY BEFORE I KEEP WRITING IN THIS LITTLE BOX AND SPAMMING YOU BEFORE THE FIC. 
> 
>  
> 
> ***deep breath***
> 
>  
> 
> Please don't let this A/N dissuade you from reading the fic, I'm just a weak bitch who isn't down for murder.

When you close your eyes, it’s all normal again.

It’s like you’ve never left the Maze: Alby is micromanaging the Greenie of the month. Gally’s arguing about something. Frypan’s there, burning something in the kitchen. Chuck is making a little song up as he does his chores, and Newt…oh, Newt.

He’d look at you like you’re made of the stuff of sunshine.

You were a Greenie seven months ago, and five months ago, you remembered your name. But all that time, Newt was by your side, fending off the other boys’ mockery of your terribly memory. Three months ago, your hand touched his by the fireside, the night the Greenie, Thomas arrived. Soon after, your shoulders touched, and then your lips, and in the shadows of the bonfire, you finally relaxed into one another.

After Thomas came the girl, Teresa, and after her, the horrible things began. You barely made it out of the Maze alive, and coming through the Scorch, well, you’re not the strongest. You were labelled as _The Dirt_ , someone joked that it was because you’re always underfoot. Newt had kissed your cheek, and whispered to only you, “ _it’s because I love moving you while we’re in the garden_ ,”.

That made you smile only until you learned that you were immune, and he wasn’t. But you’d always have him in your memory as the boy who made your heart sing.

But you can’t keep your eyes closed forever.

* * *

You like to pretend that you never went into the Maze, that you met each other somewhere before all the klunk happened with WICKED. You pretend that the world isn’t bugging ending, that you had a nice family that didn’t trade you in for drugs to become immune.

You like to pretend that you met him at a corner store, a block from the group home where you lived. In almost every scenario, you’re buying something small for the people you’re lumped with. But it doesn’t matter that in this daydream it’s never the same item, be it bread, butter or milk, it’s always him.

He’s always at the door, and you always bump into him. He’d say _“ah, sorry, I didn’t see –,”_ or just wave his arms around like a comedic octopus. But either way, Newt was adorable, and he made your heart sing.

You’d go, _“oh no, sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going –,”_ or just drop the bread or butter or milk you’d just bought to the ground and take his face in your hands and just kiss him like you’d always wanted the nerves to kiss him.

It would be a shuck fairy-tale. Because that was not how you met Newt.

You met him when you were coming out of a cage, and you were not doing just fine. You’d puked everywhere and were crying, and you didn’t remember your name or your family, but you really wanted to go to back to them, and that was before you lived through the jacked-up klunk that had happened. The Medjacks had given you a blanket, and Frypan had given you a hot mug of something which made you feel better, and Newt stayed by your side throughout all of it.

But you couldn’t get through this one.

* * *

When you hear the news, you can’t speak. You rarely speak, anyways, but that was because you’re terminally shy, and can’t handle the anxiety of having to compose complete sentences around people who you barely know, in a situation you’re living in where everything is a crisis. No. No, you’re silent now not because of that.

He’s dead. Newt’s dead.

Thomas is quiet too, and you know why. He’s the one who had to do it. He’s quiet now, but when he told you, and everyone else, it was like the words couldn’t stop from escaping his mouth, like they were a landslide that needed to fall. You knew Newt wasn’t immune, but, a Crank? No. No. You couldn’t believe that he’d turn so quickly, no.

No. _No_.

“__________?” someone asks. They place a hand on your shoulder, and you shrug it off.

Frypan waves him off, saying, “Let the boy grieve. Newt was his boyfriend.”

You want to hate Thomas for it, oh, you want to hate him so bad that your hands are shaking, and your jaw is aching, and your blood is boiling beneath the surface of your skin. But you can’t. You can’t bring yourself to feel something as passionate as hatred, you just can’t. He was his best friend, and while he didn’t know him like you did, you know how close he was to Newt.

You turn to Thomas. “Did he – did he say anything?” you whisper. “about –,”

You can see he wants to lie, oh, he wants so bad to lie to you. He’s lied a lot, but, right now, he just can’t. “I’m sorry, __________. He was too far gone.”

You feel your heart sink at his words. Slowly, like a scarf caught on a branch, you feel yourself unravelling, and you fold in on yourself with all the horror and shucking pain of it.

He just can’t be gone, he can’t be gone – _he’s gone_.

When the tears come, and oh, they come, like the rain from up above has finally released all the stress and the tension of everything you’ve held onto for so long, you wail. You stuff a fist inside your mouth, unable to hear the bugging sound of it, but, a hand takes yours from your mouth. It’s Thomas. His arms wrap around your shoulders, his head beside your head, and together, your chests heave the empty sobs of sorrow. Frypan comes next, and then more, and more, and soon, you’re surrounded by the brothers the Maze had given you, and together, you’re encircled with so much solidarity and love that it makes you want to cry even more.

Shuck WICKED. Shuck their klunkin’ Maze, their jacked experiments – all of it.

But as much as you hate all that they’ve taken from you, your life, your boyfriend – they’ve given you something else. It’s these friends who care for you, who cared so much for Newt, and no matter what, you won’t let them take them from you.

* * *

_In your dreams, he comes to you. It’s not him, not really – he looks so happy, so relaxed. Like life was the burden upon his shoulders, and you were the ball and chain that made him captive to the realm. But the smile on his face, oh, the smile – it made your heart sing. Like he wasn’t so sad before you met him, like there never was a limp, and there never was anything that made him want anything more than to bring you along with him to the other side._

_“Hey there, __________,” he says, with a smile. “I didn’t get to say goodbye.”_

_You know you’re dreaming, because he’s never cared about goodbyes. Well, there never was a goodbye ever before this, and now it’s the final goodbye you’re underprepared and your little heart sinks in your chest._

_“You can’t, though,” you reply._

_“Why not?” he asks, a pretty little frown upon his forehead. “It’s not final.”_

_You blink. “But I don’t want it to be. I – I love you, Newt.”_

_He nods and takes your hand. You know you’re dreaming, because his hand is cold, and soft, and all the time spent in the garden with the Track-Hoes has always left his palms perpetually bumpy with callouses, and warm. But you’re dreaming, and he’s dead. You can’t argue._

_“Being dead doesn’t stop how much I love you too,” he whispers, breath hot upon your face. “I won’t ever leave you, __________.”_

_You lean your head against his and try not to cry. It’s hard, but because you’re dreaming, it’s possible. “You’ll wait for me, right? When I die? If there’s an afterlife, or a magical donkey –,”_

_“It’s a garden,” he whispers. “and I can walk proper again. I’ll plant all sorts, so when you come, we’ll have a forest to walk together in.”_

_You nod. “But you’ll wait for me, Newt? Promise?”_

_“Yeah, __________.” He whispers. “Good that.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Buy me [ko-fi](https://www.ko-fi.com/M4M3P4NJ)?
> 
> If you have any requests, find me on Tumblr at @susiephalange, or [@phalangewrites](https://phalangewrites.tumblr.com/request_conditions) ʕ·ᴥ·ʔ✿


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